


Hot Under the Collar

by GarnetSeren



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Love, Lust, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Seduction, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: The sole survivor of Vault 111 was an alluring and captivating woman. Anyone who met her knew that as fact and everyone was charmed by her. She had the entire Commonwealth wrapped around her little finger, but no one was quite as affected as her faithful and loyal companions.Chapter One: Nick's a little too distracted by Nora's hacking abilities.Chapter Two: Hancock keeps catching Nora in various states of undress.Chapter Three: Deacon can't help but fall for Nora's charms.Chapter Four: Preston is blown away by Nora's kindness.Chapter Five: MacCready is fixated on Nora's lock picking abilities





	1. Femme Fatale

“That's it... come on baby... I know you want to...”

Nick swallowed reflexively, despite not having saliva. Nora's tone of voice did things to him that he'd never experienced first hand. Oh, he had the original Nick's memories to draw upon, so he knew why his coolant started pumping, whenever the pre-war dame started to croon and sweet talk.

If he were human, Nick knew his mouth would be dry, his palms sweaty, and his blood would certainly be flowing south. As it was, his fans whirled faster and his coolant pumped quicker, trying to combat the risk of over heating.

“That's it, hunny... you're being so good...”

Nick's fingers twitched at Nora's siren voice, the urge to reach for her almost too much. However, at her little pleased hum of approval, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder, hoping the bombshell hadn't noticed he'd stopped his rummaging for supplies.

It wasn't like he could help being captivated by her, after all. The speed Nora could hack into a terminal just _did_ something to him. At first, Nick had merely been impressed with her skill. A respect that had only grown, once he watched her repair several different machines on their travels. The care and attention she paid to each mechanism had been admirable, even endearing.

However, the more he watched Nora work her magic, the more Nick found he was affected by it. He'd heard Deacon call her Charmer more times than he could count, and he had to admit, the name _really_ suited her. Perhaps a little too well, as far as Nick was concerned.

From the way she coaxed and cajoled as she hacked, to the deft but gentle way she handled wires, servos and sprockets, Nick just couldn't get it out of his mind. He found himself paying more and more attention each time Nora set about a task, cataloguing the phrases she would say, memorising the way she would touch whatever... whoever... she was working on.

Storing it for later. 

Because Nick could admit, at least to himself, that he'd developed something of a fixation regarding Nora's skills. However, it had remained fairly sedate, until he'd witnessed her helping Ada in the Robot Workshop. Watching how Nora had carefully... lovingly... handled each bot she created had thoughts running through Nick's processor. Which were made all the worse, when he heard how she lavished praise on each and every one of them.

It was enough to make an old Synth's head spin.

A sudden beep pulled Nick out of his thoughts, just in time to hear Nora croon:

“Oh... you were so good for me...”

“There any machine you can't charm, doll?” he asked, his mouth running away with him. 

Oh, how glad he was in that instant to be some old prototype, instead of a fancy Gen-3. Since at least his voice wasn't breathless or shaky, his optics couldn't blow his pupils wide, and he couldn't sweat or have a dry mouth or have blood thumping loudly in his hears.

Funny though, that he felt just as much of a mess as the original Nick ever did, when faced with a pretty dame.

And it still felt like his mechanical heart skipped a beat, when Nora glanced over her shoulder at him. All luscious pout and fluttering eyelashes. If Nick didn't know better, he'd say she was doing it on purpose. Especially considering there was noticeable more sway to her step, when she began walking over to him; seemingly forgetting the safe she'd been trying to open.

But that would be crazy, a notion that must have been trigger by a loose connection in his computerised brain. Which was the same excuse Nick had been trying to feed himself, as he spent many night time hours, imaging all the scenarios that would lead to Nora giving him some undivided attention. Wondering what he could do to get the bombshell to run her hands delicately over his beat up body, and croon to him so sweetly. 

“Well, Valentine... you tell me, have I charmed you?”

Nora's voice was positively a purr as she spoke, and Nick's body tried to respond in ways it simply was no longer built for; mores the pity. Not that it stopped it from trying to short circuit, when she reached up to run her hands lightly over the lapels of his faded trench coat. As she stepped more into his space, Nick took a reflexive step back, until his back was pressed up against the wall.

Once again, his fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to her.

“You certainly... um... know how to make an old synth feel welcome, doll,” he managed to stammer out.

The smile she gave him was utterly wicked, making his fans whir overtime. And as Nora pressed into him, Nick could feel the heat of her through his shirt and trench coat, his sensors furiously trying to compute whether she was a threat... she was certainly a danger to his health, considering how light headed he felt, as she pushed up on her toes; her lips mere millimetres from his own.

He stared at her, wondering if it was suicidal to lean forward and close the scant distance between them.

“Hmm... I can think of a few other things I could do to a certain old synth,” she purred.

Nick was certain Nora had managed to make him blow a fuse with her alluring words. Since he could only continue to stare at her dumbfounded, and probably a little slack-jawed. She chuckled seductively, before tilting her head slightly.

Her sinfully soft lips pressed gently to the ragged skin of his cheek, sending his processor into overdrive. His olfactory system clocked the scent of hubflower and utilitarian soap as she leant in. His ocular one took in the myriad of shades that made up her gorgeous hair colour, whilst his aural system processed the sound of his coolant rapidly being pumped around his body.

Without warning, Nora pulled back; snatching his battered fedora off his head, before popping it on her own. It slid to tilt provocatively over one of her stunning eyes, and all Nick could to was watch, as she sashayed away from him. The reflexive need to swallow returned full force, and he shook his head.

Nora was many things, to many people. But to him, Nick had to admit she was his Femme Fatale.


	2. Wicked Game

Confidence was sexy, Hancock had always thought so, but when it was teamed with an expanse of perfect, incredibly soft looking skin... well, it was down right sinful. And he was pretty damn sure Nora knew it.

He'd always imagined the people from before the war to be stuffy and uptight. Modesty was alright if that's what did it for you, but Hancock was thinking more along the lines of prudish. Oh, he saw the pin-up billboards; Nuka-Cola girl being to most famous, but he understood they weren't the norm. All the pre-war ghouls he'd spoken to painted a picture of men that were upstanding and straight laced, and women who were demure and retiring.

But then a certain pre-war vaultie had breezed into his town, and Hancock was blown away.

Nora was something else. With a figure like a pin-up girl, flawless skin that looked so fucking soft, and confidence by the bucket load. She oozed sex appeal, and that was before Hancock even considered that damn smirk of hers, her quick wit, and her flirty nature.

And then he accidentally stumbled upon her stripped down to just her underwear, and it really _had_ been an accident. Honest.

They'd been shooting their way across the Commonwealth, helping out Nora's copious amounts of settlements, when a miss timed buck shot from him had left the Minuteman General covered in Mirelurk innards. As soon as they'd returned to Nordhagen Beach, Nora had disappeared into the tiny shack that was set aside as a bedroom-come-office for her. But after a hour Hancock had started to get worried, so went to check on her.

She looked like an advertisement for soap or something. Sat almost provocatively on a towel on the floor of her shack, dressed in nothing but her underwear and towel drying her wet hair. Hancock knew he should have apologise and quickly left; he was invading her privacy after all, but he'd never claimed to be a gentleman. He couldn't help looking, and if he thought about it, Nora didn't seem to mind him getting an eye full. All she did was smile that damn smirk at him.

The situation had repeated itself several times over the following weeks, mostly with Hancock accidentally walking in on Nora changing, and trying not to drool over how fucking amazing she looked. There had also been one very memorable occasion, when he'd had the opportunity to watch her shrug out of the top half of a jumpsuit she was wearing, leaving her barely covered by the wrapping she wore in place of the bra she'd lamented for _weeks_.

She was working fixing houses around Sanctuary with Sturges at the time, who had also stripped off the top half of his coveralls in the heat; so really Hancock got a two-for-one deal. But as nice as the handyman 's muscles were to look at, he was no pre-war bombshell. Nora stole the show, and Hancock knew he wasn't the only one eyeing her appreciatively... of course, she only went and bloody winked at him, when she caught him staring.

But even that paled in comparison to what Hancock was currently facing.

They were still in Sanctuary, and when Nora invited him over to the house that she'd reclaimed and patched up for herself, Hancock hadn't been too surprised. They often spent the evening lounging on her not-too-shabby sofa, waxing poetic about one topic or another, whilst he rode a mentat high and Nora drank her weight in whiskey.

However, this time when he let himself in, she wasn't sat with her feet propped up on the scratch coffee table as usual. She was actually nowhere to be seen, but since the oil lanterns were lit, Hancock knew he at least hadn't imagined her invitation... probably. There was a flicker of candle light further down the hall though, so on a hunch, he went to investigate.

There was no plausible reason for him to catch Nora in all her glory, as she sank into a steaming bath of water, but that was exactly the sight Hancock was treated to.

He swallowed thickly, wondering if he could beat a hasty retreat and pretend it hadn't happened, but the likelihood that Nora hadn't heard him was remote. The General was nothing if not vigilant. Which left Hancock in a predicament. He might not be a gentleman, but he didn't make a habit of letching on his friends, and Nora was worth so much more than his dirty fantasies.

Yet he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the smooth expanse of her back... not even anything risqué, just her back, and still Hancock's mind was running wild. Certain parts of his anatomy were trying to make themselves known, and of course, she chose that exact moment to glance over her shoulder at him, a lazy smirk curling her distractingly full lips.

“Hey there, handsome,” she purred.

 _Purred_. Actually fucking purred, and Hancock knew he was fucked. She was going to be the death of him.

“Hey,” he managed to croak. “Sorry, I.... eh... thought we were... um...”

Nora chuckled. “I won't be long.”

“Don't rush on my account, Sunshine.”

The words were out his mouth before Hancock could even think to take them back, never mind the endearment. And for a moment, he wondered if he'd taken a bad hit of Jet or something, because he was sure Nora's smile turned a little more wicked. Then again, it was something he was almost certain of, when she raised a perfectly toned leg out of the water and pointed with her foot towards the chair holding a towel.

“Why don't you take a seat then, John,” she grinned. “No reason we can't still talk.”

Yep. She was trying to kill him.

Hancock swallowed thickly, wondering if his heart was hammering as loudly as it sounded to him, as he crossed the scant distance. Though aiming for calm, he kicked up his feet to rest on the cracked rim of her tub. He resisted the urge to look for all of a second, and was half relieved and half disappointed, to discover Nora's naked form was hidden from view by a layer of hubflowers that floated on the still steaming water.

Fuck. It was a vision that was going to stick in Hancock's mind for a _long_ time to come. She evidently went to a lot of effort for that bath... a little too much effort, if he thought about it.

“If you're not careful, I might think you set this all up for me,” he drawled.

He gave her his most cock-sure smile, teasing, and turning on the sexy king of the zombies act that people knew him for. But of course, Nora beat him with just her damn smirk.

“Well... I just might,” she said, in a sultry whisper.

Hancock almost gaped at her. Because fuck, he was pretty sure the General of the Minutemen was trying to kill him... but what a way to go.

 


	3. Princess Charming

Okay, so maybe Deacon might... just possibly... almost definitely but not a chance if anyone asked... have a small, tiny, inconsequential, blink and you miss it... honest... _thing_ for his partner. Of course, it was only natural for him to admire the person he'd been vetting... stalking... for months.

When he'd first seen a woman stumbling out of one of the old vaults a while back, Deacon didn't think too much of it. Even though that old vault had been sealed up tight, vaulties venturing out into the real Commonwealth wasn't that big a deal.

He'd tailed her for a while, partly out of curiosity and partly out of courtesy. After all, there must be a reason a vaultie was wandering around on her own, with only a 10mm and a vaultsuit to her name. But then he'd seen her scavenger an old hunting rifle before blowing a Raider's head clean off, and Deacon figured she'd be okay on her own.

He didn't really think about her again... no, not about how amazing her figure was in that vault suit... or about how she looked more like one of those billboard pin-ups than a real person... but when someone of her description started popping up in more and more random conversations around the Commonwealth, Deacon started to pay attention.

He'd first looking into her properly in Diamond City, disguised as a security guard when she'd first rolled in with that obnoxious reporter, and called her Toots when she'd bummed a light off him. He'd next seen her when she'd strolled into the 'great green jewel' side by side with non-other than Nick Valentine. Watching her friendly banter with the old synth had made Deacon think, made him wonder, made him plot...

Then Deacon had heard word of the Minutemen reforming, and who's name should pop up again, but 'Nora the Sole Survivor of Vault 111'. Because yes, he might not be a fan of Piper, he did read her rag and had a copy of the vaultie's story tucked in his back pocket... for research purposes.

He'd been a caravan trader in Bunker Hill, and got the privilege of earning a small smile from her when he'd cheekily called her 'love', when she'd come to the settlement to set up trade routes for the newly established Minutemen settlements.

He'd been a drifter in Goodneighbour and not only watch the new Minutemen General fall in with the infamous Mayor Hancock, but inexplicably saw her become the embodiment of the Silver Shroud. He'd also been a different drifter, loitering around the Memory Den, during the rare occasions he was delivering a package to Amari.

He'd seen her in the Third Rail during one of those visits, as she was hiring that merc that hung around the VIP section. Deacon had called her Sugarbomb for a laugh, and got bought a drink for the effort.

After that, a fixation had started, which only grew the more and more he heard about the vaultie and her Minutemen. He'd taken a few trips out to her various settlements, the most impressive being Sanctuary. He snooped around, casually brought up the General in passing conversation, trying to get the real dirt on the woman... because all the praise and the hype couldn't be real, right? Wrong. From what he was told, everything being said was well earned.

He got glimpses of her talking to every one of her residents, where she showed real interest and even remembered details about their lives... from who's kid had recently broken a bone, to who's brahmin was in calf, to who's run out of what type of screw for that certain project. He eavesdropped when she had meetings with the various people she'd appointed as leaders of the growing settlements, diffusing arguments and drawing up plans for each budding place. He even watched as she bartered with travelling traders for better, but still fair, agreements for her people.

He certainly did not get misty eyed when he watched her sit on dirty side walks or floorboards, a gaggle of local kids swarming her, as she told story after fantastical story. Some Deacon knew were watered down versions of her own journey in the Commonwealth, but some he was certain were from books she'd known before the war. And just like every adult that saw the scene, he knew she was looking for her own lost son. It was amazing, and humbling, and heart wrenching to watch... if you were a softy for that sort of thing, which he wasn't. Nope. Not one bit.

Deacon even got to see her whip off her fancy coat a few times... the Minuteman one or the Silver Shroud one, she seemed partial to both... to get to work on the blossoming new farms. The there was the memorable occasion when she'd been wearing a jumpsuit as she helped Sanctuary's handyman out, before she'd stripped out of the top half leaving her in just a breast band.

Oh yeah, Deacon knew he wasn't the only one watching the General like a hungry Deathclaw stalking a brahmin. The good mayor was practically drooling, along with half the damn settlement. But it was purely academic on his part. Honest. Simply wanting to see how fit and healthy she really was, assessing whether she'd be able to keep up with what he had in mind for her. Seriously. Deacon swore on his mother's life... atom rest her soul.

After that, he started leaving 'Join the Railroad' holos in conspicuously inconspicuous places for her to find. And the rest is history, as they say... or used to, according the Charmer. Because that was Deacon's new name for her. Charmer. Rather ingenious if he did say so himself.

Unusually, it was up to the individual agent to choose their codename, but when Desdemona had asked for Nora's preference, his mouth had run off on him. Des had shot him a disapproving look, whilst Glory had simply smirked, and the vaultie turned General... well... she'd giving him an assessing look accompanied by a smile that was equal parts sweet and wicked.

A lesser man would have had their heart hammering in the chest and their palms feeling sweaty, especially when she cocked her hip and narrowed her eyes at him... because damn, if that wasn't sexy... to other men, not him. No. Deacon wasn't affected by her, no. Not at all. The codename referred to the countless times he'd seen her sweet talk a trader, or enchant a group of kids, or pacify agitated settlers.

It had nothing to do with the number she'd pulled on him. Nothing to do with how she'd won him over, without ever realising she was talking to _him_. Or at least, he didn't think she knew until...

“Well, Toots,” she drawled. “I gotta say, I was leaning towards Sugarbomb, but if you think Charmer is a good fit, I think I'm going to roll with it, Love.”

Deacon couldn't help but laugh, and out right offered to help her become a full member of the Railroad... once Des was out of earshot, of course. Because even discounting everything else she'd accomplished out in the Commonwealth, if she could see through his disguises, Deacon knew she was good. He'd even fooled Des and Glory before, and _that_ was saying something. Which meant Charmer was better than a mere tourist.

And oh, how she had proved him right.

From how she'd charmed the tourist monitoring the Switchboard, and how she handled that whole mission, to the fact she joined in with the story he spun for Des. Of course, lies were second nature to Deacon, and normally people either bought them hook, line and sinker... another term he'd learnt from Charmer... or if they knew him, they called him out on his bullshit. But then there was Charmer. She was more subtle than he was, somehow managing to stick to the truth, whilst still selling his tale.

Deacon was amazed, if he was being honest... which he tried not to be, if truth was told.

He had his theory about why she was so good. On the walk back to headquarters, Charmer had explained she'd been a military lawyer before the war, and only learnt to shoot because her husband had been in the army and insisted she learnt to defend herself. Deacon hadn't a clue what a lawyer was, but after hearing her explanation, he figured it was why she was so... well... charming.

Still, that didn't really prepare him for finding himself with a partner, for the first time since... well... since joining the Railroad. He wasn't going to touch anything from before then. Nope. No thanks. Certainly not when he was sitting on the dusty floor of the old church's steeple, with Charmer casually offering him a cigarette. One that had been between her really distracting lips not a moment ago.

“I like you,” she stated, conversationally. “You're a lying bastard with probably more disguises than I've had hot dinners out here, but I trust you, Dee.”

He was stunned. Literally stunned silent for a moment. It was probably the nicest thing anyone had said to him in a bloody long time. He chuckled then, and realised it was the most honest laugh he'd given in years. Charmer was something else.

“I'm used to flying solo. It's... refreshing, having someone to watch my back,” he admitted, truthfully.

The smile he was reward with was nothing short of breath taking, no word of a lie. In that moment, Deacon realised he was treading a dangerous path. Because he might... just possibly... almost definitely but not a chance if anyone asked... have a small, tiny, inconsequential, blink and you miss it... honest... _thing_ for his partner.

And oddly, Deacon realised he was actually, kinda, sort of okay with that. Honestly. He wasn't freaking out about it. Nope. Not at all.

 


	4. Something Else

Preston sighed as his gaze once again found the General. She was laughing and joking with Sturges, as the pair worked on yet another house in Sanctuary. She was always pitching in, helping whenever and wherever she could. Even from the first time they'd met, the moment he'd seen her in fact, she was helping someone else.

He'd thought she was something else back then, but when he'd found out her story; first about her missing son and dead husband, and _then_ about being from before the war, Preston thought she was remarkable. She was the most honest, caring, and determined person he'd ever met, which was why he'd asked her to be the General in the first place.

But that had created a rod for his own back. With her as the General, Preston couldn't even think about approaching her now... oh, he had no problem talking to her as her lieutenant, or even as her friend. But that was the problem. His feelings for the General weren't exactly platonic any more.

Despite the blood splattered vault suit she wore, Preston had considered her a beautiful woman from the moment he'd seen her up close. Though he'd been impressed with her from the moment she charged in to help him keep the Quincy survivors safe. She hadn't even spoken to them at the time, before she'd rushed over to help take out the Raiders.

His respect and admiration had only grown for her since then, steadily at first, until it skyrocketed after she confided in him and Sturges her own story. It was after that, that his feelings towards the general had morphed into something more. At first he brushed it off as a crush, because who wouldn't be affected by her. The General was a strong, capable and compassionate woman. She was beautiful, graceful and with a figure he just couldn't get out of his mind... no matter how hard he tried to be a gentleman.

However, the more he fell for her, the more Preston knew she was _far_ out of his league. With each settlement she helped, each act of kindness, each easy smile, each... anything at this point, the General proved she was so much better than him, and Preston knew that he was just damn lucky to have her as a boss, never mind a friend. Wanting anything more was stupid and selfish and down right laughable.

But that didn't stop the small smile from forming as the General turned and waved to him, beckoning him over. It didn't stop the chuckle that bubbled up, when she excitedly explained that she and Sturges had an idea for a new water pump to help the settlement. It didn't stop the urge to shift uncomfortably, when his old friend raised a knowing eyebrow when the General wasn't looking. Nor did it stop the gnawing worry he felt, when he told her about another settlement that had contacted them for help, and she immediately agreed to look into it. Or the fact his stomach sank, when she called for that Mercenary to accompany her and her dog on the new mission.

Despite his heavy heart, Preston went to see the General off, wishing her luck as he shook her hand. But oh, how he wished he could pull her into a hug like Sturges did, or better yet, get a kiss on the cheek like she gave Momma Murphy. But he was her lieutenant, it would be disrespectful of him. Still he raised his hand in farewell, when she waved from the other side of the bridge, managed to hold in the sigh that wanted to escaped. Sturges gave him a companionable clap on the shoulder as he left to do more repairs, though Momma Murphy gave him a calculating look.

“Don't need the sight to know what's bothering you,” she stated. “And I suggest you do something about it, before someone else sweeps your Nora off her feet.”

Preston swallowed audibly, hoping he could ignore his heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought that the General could be his. Though from the sly smile the old woman gave him, he figured his feelings were pretty clear across his face. The only saving grace was that the General wasn't there to see him make a fool of himself. However, he knew there was no point lying to Momma Murphy, whether you believed in her sight, the old woman was far too insightful anyway. So he offered her his arm, in order escort her back to her favourite chair that the General had built especially for her... because Nora was just that remarkable.

The sigh finally escaped his lips. “If I thought I was worth her, believe me Momma, I would.”

 


	5. Got it Bad

MacCready's eyes kept sliding to the Boss' hands, as she deftly picked yet another locked crate. Sure, he'd seen her do it probably a hundred times in the weeks they'd been travelling together, but it never stopped dragging his attention from whatever he was doing.

He'd first noticed her hands when she'd handed over the caps for hiring him... after haggling him down by a substantial amount, he might add... they were dainty with elegant fingers and _colour_ on the nails; which proved his theory that she wasn't from the Wastes. The other dead give away was her eyes didn't look world weary, and her overall general look of healthiness. But she'd had an arsenal strapped to her back and a monster of a dog at her heels, so MacCready had figured he'd taken up with worst people before. The Gunners for example.

After that, he couldn't help noticing her hands. Considering how petite they were, he'd had doubts she could use half the guns she carried, but oh boy, was he wrong. Really, that should have been the end of it... the saga of the Boss' hands... but then she had to go and pick a lock. The Boss was so swift and precise that she put his lock picking skills to shame, and MacCready actually found himself nodding in approval.

Still, nothing to get excited about, right? Well, he'd thought the same, until he watched the Boss pick another, then another, and another. Three weeks in to travelling the Commonwealth with her, and MacCready had only seen her break a single bobbypin, despite the countless locks she picked. In short, he was impressed.

And still, that should have been the end of it. It wasn't.

MacCready found himself lying in his sleeping roll at night, or staring into their campfire when he was on watch, thinking about the Boss... or more accurately, her hands. The first few nights, he'd managed to keep his wanderings sedate. Simply trying to guess when the Boss had gotten so good at lock picking, because despite her prowess in a gunfight and her general common sense when trekking across the Commonwealth, it was still painfully obvious the Boss wasn't from here... MacCready suspected she was a vaultie, which would be typical all things considered, but he hadn't gotten around to asking yet.

However, after the Boss' fingers had practically caressed his palm when she'd handed him several stimpacks and some ammo for his sniper rifle, MacCready's late night thoughts took a decidedly different turn. He couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like to have the Boss' deft hands run over his body, and after a week of trying not to take himself in hand... out in the Wastes was hardly a sensibly place to relieve himself... MacCready was grated that piece of knowledge.

Of course, like anything in his life, it wasn't in the best sense or even in a mildly okay sense. He'd been shot and then caught by a Mutie's board and sent clean across the room. The Boss and her dog had dealt with them, before she'd rushed to his side. All MacCready could do was gasp and grunt in pain, as the Boss' deft hands made short work of his coat and slid up his off-white t-shirt, before her elegant fingers had begun to trace soft patterns across his torso.

Naturally, MacCready had been in too much pain from his broke ribs and bullet hole in his shoulder to really appreciate it. But after the three stimpacks before they went to make camp and the Med-X the Boss had insisted he take once they were in relative safety, MacCready's mind had wandered back to her hands against his skin, and his dreams had been rampant.

His fixation... because, yes okay, that's exactly what it was at this point... had only gotten worse since then. He often suspected the Boss might know something, since she almost made a show of unpinning a bobbypin from her hair before she picked lock after lock.

This time had been the worst. With several strands falling into the Boss' face when she'd removed the pin, that he was dying to brush away for her, and the fact she gently bite her full lower lip as she concentrated, that he desperately wanted to tug between his own lips... MacCready's heart was pounding.

And of course, as he tried to subtly shift to ease his growing discomfort, the Boss chose that exact moment to look up at him. Her eyes shone mischievously and her grin was triumphant as she handed him another box of ammo. Once again, her dainty hand lingered in his much more calloused one, her fingertips ghosting across his palm until they curled around the back of his hand, and her thumb swept across his wrist.

MacCready swallowed thickly as the Boss looked up at him through her lashes, and he knew she could probably feel his racing heartbeat through his pulse point. Her grin morphed into the flirty smirk he'd only even seen her direct at Hancock and Nick, when the trio were bantering together, and the sight of it had his stomach flipping.

For a split second, MacCready entertained the stupid idea to just lean down and kiss the Boss.

But just like everything in his life, it wasn't going to be that simple. In that split second, he got the impression that maybe the Boss wouldn't mind if he did just that, a heartbeat later, she had a firm hold of his wrist and tugged him down to her. Of course, as he braced himself on her jean clad thigh to stop from falling into her, a spray of bullets hit the wall he'd just been leaning against.

He didn't even have time for a 'I owe you, Boss', before she was leaping out of cover after her monster dog, whipping the nearest Raider in the face with the stock of her shotgun, before she buckshot another that was trying to hack at her dog. But even as MacCready lined up his shot, and took a third down before it could reach the Boss, he could still feel the warmth of her touch against his skin.

Internally, MacCready sighed. He now had to admit, at least to himself, he had it bad.

 


End file.
